My Boys
by Mystic25
Summary: Tag to "Death's Door" Bobby Singer's last moments with the Reaper. Bobby POV.


"My Boys"

Mystic25

Summary: Tag to "Death's Door" Bobby Singer's last moments with the Reaper. Bobby POV.

Rating: T for language.

A/N: This episode, I can't even describe it…

A/N#2: My last fic was a lighter one, but damnit, this epiode...gahh...it made me write this...

**xxxxxXxxxx**

"_It is not flesh and blood, but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."_

~Johann Schiller

"_I adopted two boys, and they grew up great, they grew up HEROS."_

-"Bobby Singer" "Supernatural" Episode: "Death's Door"

**xxxxxXxxxxxx**

Sam and Dean.

I adopted them.

Balls, when did _that_ happen?

When did a baby just learning how to sit up, and a child barely able to _hold_ that kid, smelling like ash and smoke, kin to a man I met _twice_ before, become family to me?

Probably the same time that I became family to them, that piece between us meeting and now. Kinda stopped carin' about the _when_ a while ago, because it ain't important. What is, is the _why._

John may have been their dad, and I'm not sayin' he wasn't a good one, he tried. But the man was too broken and hell bent on revenge he knew nothing except trying to drill anger and revenge into his boys. He grew them into little warriors, he tried to build them up strong.

But somewhere along my screwed up life I wound up with them, not to build them up, but to teach'em, teach'em to _grow. _

_Damn idjits_, both of them. They made me worry, they dragged me through more arguments, tantrums fights, the knock down drag out kind with their old man. They ran _away _from him and to me when they needed escape – John taught them to shoot straight, and banish ghosts and exorcize demons, and Wendigos and Rugarus – and that stuff's important, and I'm not sayin' it ain't. I'm a hunter, through and through these bones. I know the value of all that.

But somewhere in between all the fighting and dying and bleedin' for the supernatural hohaw, I showed Dean how to sock a deep one into my mutilated mitt, and to _not_ bean his younger brother when he played this foreign game of _catch _with him. I taught Sam how to turn peanut butter and bananas into a workable meal – something that, at 5 years old, the kid wore such a _damn _proud smile on his face when he made his first. Peanut butter and banana peels and goo smeared all over every inch of my table and part of the floor, and on _him_. But an _"I made one Uncle Bobby!"_ shouted so proudly from his mouth that I didn't do anything but smear a little peanut butter in his hair to make the kid laugh.

Peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

Sam still likes those. Boy's 29, a man _grown_, big as a tank and a damn strong hunter, but he still makes them, the way I taught him, and when he hands off one to me with a beer in the other hand I still see the 5 year-old with the peanut butter on his face, the goofy pleased smile – they're all still there, even with all the hell the kid has gone through. The _"Uncle Bobby" _part is silent, but I still know it's there.

Dean hasn't picked up a mitt in years, but the one time I came by to see him when he was still livin' with Lisa and Ben, he was out in the yard tossin' a ball to the kid, and had my teaching method down _word for word._ Showed Ben how lean into the pitch to give mustard to the shot.

Our lives ain't no sainthood or heaven, but we had our peaceful moments, we drink beer and piss around, and, watched movies, and those _men grown_ turn into the boys I remembered tearing up my house, throwing candy at each other, same with the words, throwing me into the whole mess.

"_Bobby – tell Sam that Kettle Corn is freakin' GIRLFRIEND food!"_

'_Bobby – tell Dean to just shut up and eat his black dirt ropes!"_

"_Little pieces of HEAVEN little brother!"_

"_Where'd you to go to heaven, a hobo beach?"_

"_Bitch"_

"_Dumbass"_

"_Premadonna"_

"_Idjits, the movie's startin' save it for couple's counseling."_

I'll never forget the dyin' and the bleeding and the pain Sam and Dean have gone through. But the real stuff I'll never forget-

What the Reaper showed me as my last memory.

Lots of things about these two made me proud, these boys were _heroes._ They have gone through so much pain and bleedin' and dyin', _oceans_ of it, and they kept standin' back up, and starting again. But –

What made me proud the most was _this._

Laughin' and jokin' with each other, on my couch, even with all of hells bells scars on them, they still found reason to pull back their lips into a smile and laugh at B rated monster flicks, and damn candy.

My heart's givin' out, I know it, but I feel those old strings tuggin' at it when that echo of those two idjits vanishes and all I feel is their slow fade.

After what happened with the old man, I learned somethin', you don't get to chose who you're related too, but you _damn well_ get to chose your family.

And those two are mine.

John brought'em into the world, but I like to think I showed'em around it better, let'em know that there's a hell of a lot of evil in the world, but there's also a hell of a lot of good in it too.

And those two are part of that good part.

_My boys._

I ain't never told'em all the things I should, bout how I feel about them. I've never been that mush and gush type, not even with Sam, who's got a sensitive streak as big as Dean's bantering mouth.

But I hoped they know it, 'specially now.

"They'll be okay without you."

_They'll be okay._

_They're grown._

_My grown up boys._

Balls, this wasn't supposed to happen. I ain't _father_ material I _AIN'T_ –

Those _idjits,_ Those _damn blasted, dumb assed _turn me into a freakin' surrogate father, stupid _wonderful boys-_

_I love'em, _

_God damnit I love'em._

"No last goodbye?" I throw this out to the Reaper, watching his unmovable eyes, seein' my walls close in on my last memory.

Unmovable eyes answer me with equal unmovable words. His suit is Brooks Brothers. I snort, he's dressing like some 1950's business man while he's tellin' _me_ to let go of my past. "You've already taken that Door Bobby, it's time to take the next one."

He's in my melon, but he ain't feelin' my feelings. He don't know what it means to show your kids the world and have to leave'em alone in it, with a half assed goodbye. He ain't never bandaged a scraped knee, or listened to stories and essays, and girl problems, and _John_ problems, and fightin', and hunting, and laughin' and movie watchin' that made up the sounds of my family.

He ain't never felt _any_ of what he askin' me to leave.

I blink and I'm in a hospital bed, there's a lot of commotion around my body, I'm watching it high and up to the right.

And there standing beside me, are Sam and Dean. Lookin' like their world is ending. I've seem'em with pain from hell and loosin' each other, something insurmountably hard to these two, cause they're as close as any two human beings _I've _ever seen.

But, I ain't never seen them like _this._ Where I can't reach'em, where I can't even _damn well_ touch'em.

"It'll be alright boys," Balls, that's a pathetic soothing line for a soothing line. With each shock of that damn paddle to my chest Sam jumps, diggin' into his hand, shakin' like when he fell from that tree and didn't want John to know he was up there playin' instead of shooting, his eyes doin' everything except cryin'

Dean ain't holdin' up any better, his hand on his brother's arm, like I seen him do a million times to soothe his brother after a scrape, or a pain. But that _big brother_ hold is tremblin'. He looks ready to fall apart.

They ain't thinkin' of licorice and peanut butter and banana sandwiches –

They're watchin' me die, dyin' with me, and there's not a damn thing I can do but watch.

I feel sucked in and I'm back in my noggin house with the Reaper.

"Why'd you do that!" I demand, I'm up in the damn things face.

That face is still not doin' anything but staring at me with those unblinking eyes. Skin's as unfeeling as a marble statue. He's at the end of things, he only sees'em at their finish, not when they beat life out so strong you could hear it.

"You wanted to say goodbye" It's like a weather report, it's so banal, the storm outside my last room's window fades. The Reaper glances as that and affixes me with some trained '_I acknowledge your _pain' look. Like it's placating some damn over emotional toddler.

"This ain't _fair!"_ I'm looking my damn death in the face and yelling, Cause I just watched the best damn things that ever happened to my life fade from it. "They're _my. boys. damnit! _They're _MINE_!" Something fat and heavy is fallin' down my face, and I don't even question how I can cry in my own friiggin' _brain_. I just let it happen, and hurt right along with it. _"_You can't take'em away from me-"

"As I told you before Bobby, they'll be okay." The Reaper's arms are behind his back, eyeing me into the parts I didn't even let my wife see. He's calm, he's seen it all before, millennia of it. He probably got these lines off some damn company script. "Your boys are gown now, they don't need you anymore-"

"You ain't no father you desiccated jackass!" My anger is there, but my voice ain't up to shouting range. For all this thing's ancient and otherworldly wisdom, he hasn't known things like this.

"You ain't never stopped dumb fights over He-Man and rasianettes, or felt small hands in your shirt or watched little legs become big ones, they will _always_ need me! And _I'll need them!"_

My big grown up boys.

I ain't ready to let them go.

The damn door is glowing, I can feel it, I feel a light glowing underneath it, it's radiating energy it's so bright. Heaven may very well be on that other side, but it ain't where I wanna go.

"You're almost out of room Bobby," Damn Reaper checks a gold pocket watch on a chain from inside his coat. Great, I have a conductor, wonder if he'll shout '_Last Train to Glowing Door Number 5!'_

I glance back to the couch, that old battered sofa that Karen got for 5 dollars and some luck at the Flea Market.

"_Uncle Bobby," Dean tugged at my arm, and when I bend down he's smiling so big his freckles are gonna pop off. "Sammy talked!" He points to the baby sitting with fat hands on the blanket I put him under on the sofa, smiling, toothless and all. "I think he said 'Dean!'" _

_I ain't their dad, but John is out, off huntin' some damn monster, and left me with them. So I'm the one who ruffs up the boy's dirty blonde hair, and I can't help finding myself from smiling back. "He sure did kid, think you're stuck with him now."_

"_Unka Bobb'ee pway wid me'nd D'e!" Sam's two, raising his head to yell at me when I come through the living room with a brown bag of gun grease and potatoes to put away. Dean's got all the matchbox cars I bought'em last Christmas spread out between them, whatever game it is, Sam loves it. He's squealing so much it makes Dean laugh, and I laugh with'em._

"_Uncle Bobby, can we watch the Hulk?" Dean is 8, holding the VHS in his hand, looking both excited and manipulative. "I'll cover Sammy's eyes during the scary parts." How could I say no? That's John's job._

"_Uncle Bobby, dad wouldn't teach me how to throw the ball like you did Dean, can you show me?"_

"_Uncle Bobby, how do you talk to a girl, like a really HOT one?"_

"_Uncle Bobby, Is – is it okay if I don't want to do what dad and Dean do?"_

"_Uncle Bobby, Dean called me 'dass ackwards!'"_

"_Uncle Bobby, Sammy spilled his soda all over my homework! He IS 'Dass Ackwards!'"_

"_Uncle Bobby, this is awesome!" Sam's holdin' to the rollercoaster safety bar and my arm in equal measure, face beamin' "We never get to go to the fair!"_

"_Bobby I got into Stanford- Dad's pretty pissed-"_

"_Bobby, you heard from Sam? I wrote him three times at his fancy pants college, Damn kid won't write back, should I call? Why are you calling me an idjit? Just answer the question!"_

"_Bobby Dad's dead-"_

"_Bobby, you have to help me bring Dean back- Please!" Sam's bulky as I grab'em, and hold'em to say _'_I can't kid. I'm sorry.' Damn near cried out everything that night, me and him both._

"_Bobby, I see Sam everywhere, but he's gone, he went to friggin' HELL! I hafta drink it, damnit!" I took the bottle from that broken boy before he could shatter it and my hand is restin' on his neck, and he growls that cry that he won't let out to anyone else 'cept me and the one who's down there._

"_Bobby, I'm never going to stop seeing Lucifer, but you and Dean are here to ground me-"_

"_Bobby everyone in this room's died at least once, that doesn't mean you get to chose the beer."_

"What's it gonna be?" The Reaper watches me, dead eyes still present like a over achievin' student. "Go or stay?" He's lookin' around the room, it's dilapidated, dying with the parts of my mind that held it up. The dusty books, Karen's trinkets, all blacking out and fading away. He looks back at me. "This place is almost gone Bobby, being homeless in your own head is not an honorable end."

"For something so damn ancient you're a blind fool," I ain't shoutin' anymore, I'm looking right at that son-of-a-bitch. "This ain't never been about _honor_ -_"_

"You're wasting time," The thing's voice rises, he stares at the door that's used to lead out to my porch, glowing, starting to creak open on its own. "There's nothing left for you here Bobby."

There's a few pictures of Sam and Dean scattered among that mess, not much, but I still can turn my head to see'em.

"_Bobby, hey, thank you…for everything."_

I may not have a heart beatin' in my chest, but it's damn sure beatin' out the real world, inside those two idjits.

My boys,

_They're _my heart.

Always have been.

I turn back to the Reaper. "You're wrong."

The door breaks open on its own, light floods the room.

I don't move to it.

I take down the picture of my boys and grasp it in my hands, and I remember.

**xxxxxXxxxx**

End.

I couldn't even find song lyrics for this one that does this justice. Bobby Singer, gahh…it was so moving, so poignant…yeah.

I've read too many fics where Bobby basically goes and says goodbye and walks away with the Reaper. I think he would _fight_, even if it was futile, he would fight for Sam and Dean, the way they fought for him.

He didn't want to die, pure and simple, he wanted to be with his _boys._

So I'm hoping for that, Sam came back from _HELL_, so did Dean….

R/R please.

Peace,

Mystic.


End file.
